Thoréandan and the Dragon
by Thoreandan
Summary: Let me tell you about Thoréandan, the man who bit off the dragon's hand. No blows from his sword ever did land so he bit off the dragon's hand. This is the tale of a friend of Aragorn, from when they were children, growing up in Imladris.
1. The death of Gerontius

CHAPTER ONE: The death of Gerontius

"I must be tired", thought Thelandan to himself, "I thought I just saw a Periannath run past my window. There have been no Periannaths in Imladris for many years."

Suddenly a shrill scream came to Thelandan's aging ears, and a sly smile spread slowly across his weathered face. His hearing was not what it once was, but even such a high pitched sound he could hear when it was half expected.

"Grimordel, dear, I think we have visitors. That sound's like one of our cultured neighbours has just laid their eyes for the first time on a Halfling!"

A fine featured but elderly woman stepped into the study where Thelandan was seated at his big oaken desk, which was covered with charts of far distant lands. She was elegant and yet powerful, even in her declining years. A woman who has the distant and hollow gaze of a warrior who has seen much death and bloodshed. This was a once mighty she-elf warrior, now living at peace in the twilight of her lifetime in the safety of her homeland.

"A Periannath, in Imladris? Right here in the city? That should raise some eyebrows", said Grimordel as she stole up behind Thelandan's chair and reaching over, gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder.

"Remember when we last visited Bree, and you simply insisted on going to the town of the Periannath, The Shire, to visit that old coot Gerontius. Why that must have been some thirty years ago now."

"Yes dear, I shall not soon forget the fuss you made on my return when you told me of the raiding band of Orcs that broke through the gate at Bree and you had to take up arms again. At your age. What were you then dear, 150 years old?"

"Not quite", laughed Grimordel dryly, "I was only 148, and not a day over. Anyway, those weren't just ordinary Orcs, they were those Uruks of Mordor."

"Silence woman!" snapped Thelandan gruffly, "Even in the safety of Imladris it is not wise to mention that land's name here. I'm going to see what fuss this Periannath has caused in the city, and maybe learn of its errand."

"Would you like me to prepare a room?" asked Grimordel, who was used to unexpected visitors dropping in on them. Some would stay overnight, and others would stay much longer.

"No dear. I'm sorry I snapped. This is a Halfling, not a Dwarf. He will find welcome lodging with any one of our enlightened neighbours. Your services will not be required this time."

Thelandan patted Grimordel's arm in a gesture that, while comforting, was also a signal that he wanted to get up without knocking her onto the floor with his great leather chair. At their age, both Thelandan and Grimordel had become very understanding of each other's weaknesses. When she had stepped back, he swung his chair away from his desk and, gathering up his cloak from the hook, made for the door.

"Do watch out for wains on the road Thelandan, the streets are busy at this time of day."

Thelandan caught the twinkle in Grimordel's eye, "Silence wench" he flicked back jovially, "and have my dinner ready for me when I return." Thelandan knew he was as likely to find his meal sitting beside Karn's bowl on the front doorstep with that quip, so he hurried off on his way.

Stepping into place as quickly beside him as his shadow, the wolf-cub sprang from his resting place on the deer-hide that lay on the porch. Thelandan and Karn had been inseparable since he found the cub in the Fell Winter of 2911. At nine years old, Karn was still a relatively young wolf, but not quite a cub any more. Karn was orphaned in an attack of the White Wolves upon Imladris when their pack crossed the Baranduin River which froze over during the Fell Winter. Thelandan, at over 170 years old, was starting to feel the weight of the years upon him, and the hole that had been left in his heart at the loss of his only son Thorandan some 140 years earlier was never truly healed. So when he came across a young wolf-cub left behind by the defeated White Wolves, all alone in the ice and snow, he took it home as a surrogate. He never openly mentioned Thorandan's name in connection with Karn to Grimordel, as she had her own grief for their son, and no replacement would ever do. Sometimes he even denied to himself that there was any connection.

Thelandan and Karn walked up the cobbled street to the town square, with Karn sniffing the breeze and panting lightly all the way. He knew that this was the wrong way to be going if they were going to collect rabbits. He was, in fact, quite an intelligent animal. A throng of people up ahead led Thelandan to the place where the Periannath had come: right on the door-step of the great library of Imladris. Thelandan saw towering above the sea of faces the features of Ellandan, one of Elrond's two sons.

"…and he's not got much time left for this world", gasped the voice of the Hobbit from the middle of the ring of people that had gathered to see what the commotion was about. The little person had obviously been running for a long time, perhaps since Bruinen, for there were said to be Orcs upon the slopes of Hithaeglir, and so it is well that this Periannath had given them the slip with his haste. Thelandan remembered the speed and quietness of foot of Periannaths he had met in the past, and so was not surprised at this in the slightest. Thelandan made his way through the crowd, which separated for him easily at seeing Karn at his heels.

"Someone bring this boy something to drink, quickly, he has travelled far", said Thelandan authoritatively, taking control of the situation. Then, addressing the Periannath, he asked, "What is your name, lad, and what brings you to Rivendell?"

"Sir, my name is Ham Gamgee", said the young Hobbit, "I come in search of two people at the behest of a dying Hobbit, a great Hobbit of renown. He asked to see these friends of his one last time before he passed on.

"What be the name of this Hobbit of renown, and what be the name of his friends?" inquired Thelandan, half suspecting the answer already.

"It is Gerontius, known as the Old Took, that is dying, and he seeks council with Mithrandir and Thelandan before he dies", the Hobbit replied as he reached greedily for the cup that someone from the crowd had proffered him.

"You have brought this message all the way from The Shire, young man, and I am grateful to you, for I am Thelandan of whom you seek. Of the whereabouts of Mithrandir I cannot speak, for he is a traveler, as I once was, and may at this very time be as close as Bree or as far as Minas Tirith, or anywhere in the woods and plains between."

"Mithrandir is here", interjected Ellandan, who spoke up for the first time since Thelandan arrived amongst the crowd. "He is at home with father, having arrived just last night."

"Thank you for your tiding, master Ellandan", said Thelandan, and, turning back to Ham the Hobbit, "Come with me then, young lad, and together we will beseech Mithrandir for an audience on behalf of old Gerontius."

As the old Dúnedain and the Halfling where shown into the presence of Elrond and Mithrandir, the young Hobbit's eyes grew wider at the wonder of the House he had entered. For this was a place older than any he had seen before, almost as if it were built when all around was flat plains, and that the heights of Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, had grown up around it.

When they were still a ways off from the pair, Ham asked, "I have heard of Lord Elrond before, but who is this Mithrandir?"

"If you have heard of Elrond, then you must know of his great age. Mithrandir is older yet still. He is an Istari, or a wizard in the Common Speech. Neither of them are to be trifled with. Hush now, and let me address them. It is good that you found me first", replied Thelandan, as they approached the two great men. It seemed as if Elrond and Mithrandir were in the middle of a heated exchange, and Thelandan knew diplomacy was needed before he could broach the issue of Gerontius.

"My Lord Elrond, and Mithrandir Stormcrow, pardon the intrusion if you will", announced Thelandan. Quickly Elrond placed a heavy red woven tapestry over the table that Mithrandir and he were standing beside, but not before Thelandan caught sight of a marvellous ring, along with what looked like a small shiny dot or star, a royal sceptre, and a broken sword. These Thelandan recognized immediately as the heirlooms of the King's house: the ring of Barahir, the star of Elendil, the sceptre of Annúminas, and the shards of Narsil. He did not speak of them, as he knew that it was a closely guarded secret that they were kept at Imladris when not in use, and not in Annúminas, the City of Kings.

"Thelandan, welcome. I had not heard that our Mithrandir was using his powers to provide children for grieving parents now", said Elrond on noticing the Halfling at Thelandan's side. "Was this once that mutt that used to follow you everywhere?"

"This is none of my doing Elrond", quipped Mithrandir, "If I had been involved I would at least have gotten the mix of Númenoeran and Elvish blood right. Never before have I seen a Periannath as the result of such a mix of the races. Who is your young friend Thelandan?" the wizard asked.

"My Lords, may I introduce Ham Gamgee of The Shire. He has travelled a long way alone to seek council on behalf of our old friend Gerontius. It seems his time has finally come. He is asking after Mithrandir and myself. We must go at once."

"Steady on", replied Mithrandir. "Being around this young Hobbit has renewed your vigour; I will say that much for you Thelandan. Young man, when did the Old Took take sick? I saw him last only a few short months ago for his 130th birthday."

"Uh, uh", stammered Ham, "Uh, it would have been, uh, about last Thursday my Lord."

"No need to be afeared of me, young pup. I'm not going to turn you into a squirrel if you say something wrong. You may call me Gandalf."

"Gandalf!" exclaimed Ham, "I thought I recognised you. You used to come to the Old Took's place every Midsummer's Eve with your magic rockets that would light up the night sky! But why do they call you Mithrandir?"

"That is my name in Quenya, the high tongue of the Elves. It is a language not used much these days, save by the High-Elves such as our Lord Elrond. In the same language we call this place Imladris that you call Rivendell." Gandalf paused for a moment in thought. "Thelandan, can you provide lodging for our young friend here overnight. I have much to discuss with Elrond by the light of the Moon, and early tomorrow we shall make for the Shire together."

After they said their farewells and Thelandan and Ham had departed, Mithrandir took up again the conversation he was having with Elrond before they were interrupted. "I have searched everywhere, through the treasuries of ancient houses and in the scrolls of lore from libraries throughout Gondor, Harodor, and even secretly in Mordor itself. I have risked my neck time after time to find it. Rohan has no mention of it either, it just seems to have completely disappeared from history itself!"

"No!" replied Elrond emphatically, "It must be somewhere. It is enchanted and will not just disappear or fade away through the ravages of time, rust, and corrosion. When it is found it will be as solid and true as the rest of them."

"Then it must be right under our very noses here in Eriador, Elrond. I go tomorrow to see Gerontius. It seems plausible that if it is in Eriador, then perhaps an elderly and well travelled Periannath is just as likely to have heard of it as anyone else."

"If he has his wits about him enough to remember. Go with my blessing, Mithrandir, and may your search be fruitful. I don't have to tell you how valuable that last one is. I will provision you myself for your travels with Thelandan. And take care of him. He is old and feeble now too. You will find a wain and horse laden and waiting for you at dawn."

The next morning there was a rap on the door as Grimordel was clearing away the breakfast dishes. "That will be Mithrandir now, are you two ready to go?" called Grimordel as Ham wandered into the room with his pack on his back and a good stout stick in his hand. His cloak was already fastened, for there was a light rain about, and grey clouds hung low in the valley.

"I'm all set to go ma'am", said the Hobbit, "and a hearty thanks to you for your hospitality and generosity to a stranger."

"She's used to doing this", said Thelandan as he walked quickly into the room from another door, "Whenever Dwarves visit our fair land, Grimordel goes into instant hospitality mode. She lived with them for 40 years or so in the area South of Ered Luin, and met King Thrain II and his son Thorin there. As you may know, there is not much love lost between the Elves and the Dwarves, so my Grimordel acts as the Emissary of the Elves to the Dwarves. It was nothing new for us to have unexpected company in our home. That is why we live in what was once an inn."

Another rap, louder this time, came from the door, "Are you awake yet Thelandan? Or has the magic of the Hobbits worked its way on you overnight, such that you must have two breakfasts in the morning before starting the day?" called Mithrandir from outside.

As they departed from Imladris, following the Bruinen path through the valley, Mithrandir and Thelandan regaled Ham with tales of their travels and adventures with Gerontius when he was younger, and even of his ancestor Bandobras Took, who slew a whole band of Orcs in the Northfarthing when Thelandan was just a boy. Ham was impressed by the longevity of the Dúnedain and the Istari, "I thought the Old Took was old. You people were even around to meet his Gaffer!"

"Not for much longer for myself, though", said Thelandan, "But as for Gandalf, nobody knows how old he is, and he will not say. I have tried."

Karn was much more in his element today, and was constantly stopping behind the wain to sniff the ground and the air around him. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck raised and he stopped in the middle of the path. Ham almost walked straight into him.

"There can't be Orcs on this path", said Mithrandir, "it's much too well travelled. They stay up in Hithaeglir, where they can hide in the caves and bushes, there is no cover for them here."

"No, but there is enough cover for a coney", replied Thelandan, watching the wolf-cub stealthily moving in for the kill. Just as he was about to pounce the rabbit took fright from something behind it and ran from the bushes straight towards the wolf-cub, hitting Karn squarely on the nose with its hind legs as it suddenly changed direction to avoid the newly espied danger, then tearing off in an entirely different direction to the safety of some unseen burrow. Poor Karn gave a yelp and ran quickly back under the safety of the wain, with his tail between his legs. The whole incident took a matter of seconds, and appeared so comical that all three travellers burst into laughter together, spooking the horse that was tethered to the wain. Mithrandir had to pull sharply on the reins to recover control of the frightened beast, lest the wain and all its provisions be scattered from here to the Ford.

"Well, the mighty hunter could still be of use to us", said Mithrandir when he had recovered, and had wiped the tears from his eyes from laughing so hard, "If we are beset upon by Orcs on the way, perhaps we could offer them wolf-flesh to eat instead of man-flesh!"

"No-one's eating my Karn", spat back Thelandan, defensive as ever of his trusty friend, "he may not be the best hunter in Eriador, but he is intelligent and loyal to his friends, unlike some!"

The remainder of the trip from Imladris to the Shire was relatively uneventful. Eventually Mithrandir, Thelandan, Ham, and the ever-faithful Karn arrived at Bree, where Mithrandir decided to stop for a spell. They rested at The Prancing Pony, an old inn that has been kept by the family of Mithrandir's friends, the Butterbur's, from time beyond record. Here Mithrandir is known as Gandalf, and he and the rest of the group were warmly welcomed by the innkeeper, (all except Karn, who had to wait outside). They found a table in a dark corner and downed an ale, while Gandalf went and spoke at length with Barliman Butterbur about recent goings-on in the Shire and the surrounding area. If one wants to get information, a tavern such as The Prancing Pony is as good a place as any. Thelandan was eager to leave and get to old Gerontius before his end, but Gandalf did not seem to be in any hurry, almost as if he had some hidden knowledge of exactly when the Old Took would pass away. Thelandan was about to send Ham to find Gandalf when the old wizard returned to their table with plates and another round of ales. "This one is on the house, courtesy of Barliman. He's a good sort, and pleasant enough when you get to know him."

When they had finished their meal, Gandalf took the last piece of meat from his plate, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to Ham, saying "Off you go, take this to Karn, will you boy, he deserves something to eat too."

"Oh no you don't!" said Thelandan in mock anger, "You're not fattening him up to feed to the Orcs!"

"I would never", retorted Gandalf, with a hurt look on his face, "I'm quite fond of him really."

"I know, you old coot. What are you still waiting for Ham? Off you go, there's a good lad."

When Ham had left the table, Gandalf moved closer to Thelandan and lowered his voice. "I guess you want to know why we're here", he said quietly.

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind", replied Thelandan, lowering his voice to match Gandalf's secretive tone.

"I'm making some enquiries about the Shard. I intend to ask Gerontius as well, before he leaves us."

"The Shard!" exclaimed Thelandan in what can only be described as a shouted whisper, "I thought that was safely found in the treasury at Minas Tirith."

"No, I have just returned from there. They have a shard, but not The Shard, the missing Shard of Narsil. Theirs is completely worthless, although I didn't tell the Steward that, of course. Elrond has stepped up the hunt for the missing Shard, as he believes the time of reforging is at hand, and that Narsil will once again be wielded by a descendant of Isildur. Of course that will be impossible if all the pieces are not together."

"All the pieces of what?" chipped in Ham, who had just returned from the front door.

"Never you mind young man", said Gandalf, "It is time we were going."

Their party grew substantially at the gates of Bree, as a number of Hobbits were making their way back home to Hobbiton, and asked to travel with the wain. This was more for the comfort of having their packs carried on the wain than for their protection, mind you. There was much singing and storytelling on the final leg of their journey, but Thelandan was quiet, pondering what Gandalf had told him. On the fourth day after they left Imladris, the company arrived at Hobbiton and parted with Ham and their friends that they had met in Bree. Ham had promised to bring them to The Shire, and having done as he was bidden, was released to return to his own home. Of course, there was much fuss made of Karn at the parting, for Karn and Ham had become good friends. It was getting late in the afternoon, and Thelandan asked Gandalf if they should find an inn before nightfall.

"No, we must push on to Tuckborough", replied Gandalf brusquely, suddenly showing more interest in the lateness of the hour as far as Gerontius' life was concerned than for the failing of the light.

"Excuse me good sirs, may I travel with you, for I have an errand in Greater Smials which calls my attention this very evening", a voice said from behind them. They turned around to see who it was.

"Greetings, good sirs, I am Bilbo Baggins of Bagshot Row", said a fine specimen of a Hobbit, bowing courteously. He looked to be about 30 years old.

"Ah, young master Baggins, I remember you, son of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, if I am not mistaken", said Gandalf, "We're off to visit your Gaffer. I am Gandalf the Grey, and this is Thelandan the Dúnedain warrior. Join us, please do."

"Thank you", replied Bilbo as he fell into step with the company, "Yes, the whole family is gathering there again tonight, for it is said that the Old Took may not last through the night. Although, we've been there for the last four nights, as he was due to pass on at any stage."

"He's been waiting for us to arrive first!" remarked Thelandan, thinking of how uncanny it was that Gandalf should know exactly to the day when to leave for The Shire. "Do not worry, his end will be short and peaceful, and he will not tarry now that we are here."

"Your words, while seeming callous and harsh, are a welcome relief to my ears, for the stress on the whole family over the last week has be enormous. We Baginses don't oft mix with our adventuresome Took relatives, and it has been difficult, to say the least, staying in close confines with them, particularly in the old shabby rooms of the Great Place of the Tooks. It was once considered a mansion among the Smials, but it is unkempt and falling into disrepair. We Baginses believe it is because the Tooks spend so much of their time away from home, wandering on some wild adventure or other that the house is so run down."

They travelled on as the sun set behind them, and all the way Bilbo was asking questions about far distant lands and the places that these two weary travellers had seen and the peoples they had met. Gandalf started to suspect that Bilbo secretly didn't share his relatives' dislike of adventure. When they reached the Great Place of the Tooks, they found wains out front and people milling about, with horses untethered in the field next to the house. It looked as if a party were going on. Gandalf went straight inside with Bilbo, while Thelandan took care of their wain, horse, and provisions.

When Thelandan entered the house, he was guided by one of the Took children to the room where Gerontius lay. He passed room after room of Hobbits, great and small, with their makeshift beds and gear all laid out.

"Last time I was here it wasn't this busy", remarked Thelandan, remembering the huge empty house with Gerontius living in one small room of it.

"The whole family is here for the reading of the Will, once the Gaffer dies", replied the urchin. There's nothing quite like the disarming honesty of youth, thought the old Dúnedain warrior.

"Thelandan, good to see you my old friend", croaked Gerontius as Thelandan stooped to enter the room.

"Quiet now papa, save your breath", said one of his daughters soothingly to the Old Took.

"My breath's all but used up", replied the old Hobbit, "Come on now, out, all of you. I want to speak with Gandalf and Thelandan alone."

"As you wish, but take it easy, don't overdo it", said the daughter, who seemed to be some sort of spokesperson for the family. Those who were in the room shuffled out, leaving Gandalf, Thelandan, and Gerontius alone.

"Vultures!" groaned Gerontius, "Half of them I've never met in my entire 130 years", he paused, taking a breath, "Many of them I wouldn't want to meet anyway, yet they are all here to get a piece of me when I go."

Gerontius took a few shallow, rasping breaths before he continued, "My friends, I've asked you to come to help me with one small matter that I could only entrust to you."

The frailty of this once great Hobbit was hard to bear for Thelandan, yet he knew for his friend's sake that he must be strong, just as they had been in their youth. "What do you want this time, you Old Took? You're not up to a trip to Rivendell, even on the back of our wain, so there's no escaping your kinfolk that way."

Gandalf seemed to be keeping up the solid front also, as a sign of respect for their friend, "And I'm not using my powers to turn them all into flies for you to swat them away before you leave us, sorry!"

"No, no, nothing like that", rasped the Old Took, "I want you both to take care of my interests for me." He took a few short breaths. "I want you to fairly distribute my wealth among my family." He paused again; they let him have his say. "I have tried writing a Will, but I can never decide who should get what." There was a long pause. "If I give this to one family member then another will be put out." He coughed, and a voice from behind the door called to see if everything was alright. "I'm fine, I'm only dying, don't worry", called Gerontius in return. He turned back to his friends, "Please, help me. I've written a final Will that names the both of your as heirs of everything I own. Could you do this for me?"

It was all that Thelandan could do to keep that brave face, and not let his true feelings out. "I don't believe it", he said to Gandalf, "The Old Took has finally shown his true colours, right here on his deathbed. And his colour is YELLOW! I would never have taken Old Gerontius, the brave adventurer of Hobbiton, for a yellow, lily-livered scardy-cat!"

"It would seem so", said Gandalf, also trying hard to hide the moisture rising in his eyes, "He would face hordes of Orcs like his famous ancestor Bandobras did, but can't stomach the thought of a little group of is own progeny, the fruit of his loins!"

"Come on guys, give an old timer a break", rasped Gerontius, "I don't want to be remembered as the Gaffer that caused outright war between the Tooks and the Baginses."

"Old timer? Who are you calling old?" replied Thelandan, "You're fifty years younger than me, and your guess is still as good as mine as to Gandalf's age."

"It was ever thus", said Gerontius, "So, will you do it?"

"Of course we will", said Gandalf, "If you want to cover your tracks one last time, we're here to help you do it. It is a great honour to do such for a wonderful friend. Rest now, Gerontius, you have earned it."

"Yes, rest Gerontius", chipped in Thelandan. Gerontius closed his eyes.

"Hey, where's that mutt of yours, Thelandan?" said Gerontius, with his eyes still closed.

"I left him out on the porch."

"Go bring him in; I'd like to see him one last time too."

"Okay, I'll be right back", said Thelandan, getting up from his seat beside the Old Took's bed.

When he had left the room, Gerontius opened his eyes again, and looked up at Gandalf. "He's been a good friend, Gandalf, you both have. If I could ask one last thing of you, it would be that you grant him his wish", there was a pause while Gerontius took another shallow breath, "and return to him and Grimordel that which was lost in Dale."

"I can't promise to bring back Thorandan, but maybe I can do something for them. Here he comes now with that silly mutt, maybe I could extend it's life for them."

As he entered, Thelandan could see that it was already too late. Gandalf was just reaching up to close the Old Took's eyes. Thelandan and Gandalf both let their defences down and tears were shed in that room, possibly the only real honest tears for Gerontius that were shed in that house that day.

It took the magic of a wizard, the might of a Dúnedain warrior, and the savagery of a White Wolf-cub to dispel the riot that came at the reading of the Will. Any two alone may not have been equal to the task. There were murmurings that the two friends of Gerontius had forced him to sign a bedside change of Will so that they could take all his wealth. This was only dispelled when both Gandalf and Thelandan promised before all the assembled family members that they would leave The Shire not a single coin richer, and that everything would be shared out evenly amongst the Old Took's descendants. They buried the Old Took in the Smials, and Gandalf and Thelandan did a forthright job of divvying up amongst his family the spoils and treasures, the home, land and property that Gerontius had amassed or had received from his forefathers. Many a grumble was heard, but no war broke out between the rival factions. When all was done, they loaded up their wain for the return trip. They were accompanied by Bilbo as far as Bree, who set about again asking questions of far distant lands, places, and peoples.

"So, what did he say?" asked Thelandan as soon as they were alone on the trail leading back toward the Ford of Bruinen.

"About what?" asked Mithrandir.

"The Shard. Did he know where it is?" asked Thelandan, lowering his voice, for one never knew if the trees had ears in these parts.

"No, leastways if he did, he couldn't remember. I don't hold that against him. Chances are he may never have known anyway. It was a long shot."

All the way back to Imladris, Thelandan and Mithrandir spoke of their good friend Gerontius and the times they had spent together. They were in no hurry to return, and the return trip took them half as long again as the first trip took. It was a totally uneventful trip, except to say that Karn was well fed, on two fat coneys he caught by the side of the path.

"Is he gone?" asked Grimordel when they arrived back safely at home.

"Yes, he has left us at last", answered Mithrandir.

"I bet the family will be sad", she said, much to both of the men's mirth.

"I'm sure they will be dear", said Thelandan, knowing of his wife's great love and respect for family relationships.

"Well, I must be on my way", said Mithrandir, "But before I do, won't you invite a weary traveller in for a drink. We can toast the memory of Gerontius together one last time."

"Please, do come in Mithrandir", said Grimordel, "I would like that."

Mithrandir pulled a large silver goblet from his sack on the back of the wain. "We'll use this, if you please." It was a splendid challis, with Certar runes engraved about its rim, in a language that neither Thelandan nor Grimordel could make out. The secret language of the ancient Valar.

Mithrandir, Thelandan, and Grimordel went inside and sat in the great hall, in front of the hearth, the embers of which were still glowing warmly. It was a cosy home, more used to having large numbers of guests than as an empty abode for two old folks to putter around in. Grimordel brought in a draft and poured it into the goblet that Mithrandir held out.

"To Gerontius, the Old Took. To friendship, camaraderie, and respect", intoned Mithrandir. He passed the goblet to Thelandan, who took a deep swig. The goblet was passed on to Grimordel, who likewise took a deep swig. She passed it back to Mithrandir, who just at that time exclaimed "Good gracious me, the horse! The poor horse has been tied to that wain all this time. I must go free him or he will refuse to work for me ever again." And with that, Mithrandir quickly departed, taking the goblet with him. Neither Thelandan nor Grimordel noticed that the goblet never touched Mithrandir's lips.


	2. The illness of Grimordel

CHAPTER TWO: The illness of Grimordel

Exactly seven years to the day after the day that Thelandan and Grimordel toasted Gerontius with Mithrandir, Grimordel was taken sick. By now she was 185 years old, and, although of Elven stock, she had chosen the mortal life in order to wed her dashing young Dúnedain warrior, Thelandan. It was uncommon for an Elf to wed one of another race, as Elves are extremely long-lived and will out-live any such mismatched partner. Special dispensation was needed of Lord Elrond before they could be married, and to do so, Grimordel had to become as mortal as a Dúnedain. Thelandan was just 18 years old, and Grimordel only 16 when they met. He was with a party of Dúnedain warriors that took shelter in Imladris during the Long Winter that spread it's snows throughout the entire year of 2758, and through into 2759. Food was scarce in those days, many died from lack of sustenance, and the people of the city welcomed the strength of extra bows to go hunting in the frozen wastelands beyond the Bruinen, despite the extra mouths to be fed. Thelandan, though young, was a marksman of renown, and Grimordel could see that he would be an excellent provider for their family. They were wed in 2760, with Elrond's blessing, and moved to the once grand city of Dale to start a new life together for themselves. Two years later their only son, Thorandan was born. But dreams of a peaceful family life were shattered for them just ten short years after they were married. For in the year 2770 a great golden dragon descended out of the sky, belching fire, and the city of Dale was destroyed. In the chaos and confusion that followed, their ruined home was the least of their concerns. Their son Thorandan, who was on his way home from lore classes, a child of just 8 years old, was amongst the first to be killed when Smaug the Dragon attacked. His body was never recovered from the cobblestones, as none could get near to the city for fear of Smaug.

Thelandan and Grimordel led a small group of survivors from the ruins of Dale back to Imladris, the home of Grimordel's youth. There they lived and thrived for over twenty years before the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs began in 2793. Thelandan was called away as a Dúnedain warrior to fight in secret beside the Dwarves. Grimordel, having been robbed of her son, did not take the seeming loss of her husband too well, so she too joined the fray against the Orcs. She learnt the bow, and became a mighty she-elf warrior, with a reputation for never wasting a single arrow. Her fame grew so wide that she was hand-picked by the Dwarf King Thráin II to become one of his closest personal bodyguards. Grimordel followed Thráin and his son Thorin, and, long after the other Dúnedain had departed at the end of the War in 2799, she remained with the Dwarf King in the South of Ered Luin. There she stayed for some 40 years, and became as one of the Dwarves. She even was taught to speak Khazâd, the hidden language of the Dwarves, and learnt much of their lore, more in fact than any other Elf had known of them previously. Grimordel again was hand-picked by Thráin II when he set out with a small party in 2841 to return to Erebor, a chance that Grimordel would not miss for the world, for it was Thráin's intention to take vengeance on the great wyrm that had taken up residence in the tunnels under Erebor, and who had stolen the treasures of the Dwarves, even the Arkenstone, their greatest treasure. This was Smaug the Dragon, of whom Grimordel had a right of vengeance against also, for the death of her son Thorandan. It may well be that it was for this very reason that she stayed with the Dwarves so long, and she may have even had a part to play in stoking the fires of Thráin's wrath against Smaug to this end None will ever know, for Grimordel never speaks of that time now. Thráin's purpose was foiled when he disappeared from their camp under the eaves of the Mirkwood Forest. He was abducted by night. Grimordel's vehicle, as such, of vengeance against Smaug died too at that time, and so she returned home to Imladris.

On hearing that her husband Thelandan had made a home for himself in Bree after the Battle of Nanduhirion, she sent word to him and they were reunited again in Imladris in the year 2850, when she was 108 years old, and he 110. There they remained for the rest of their days. Adjusting back to life amongst the Elves of her own race was difficult for Grimordel, as they are naturally not too well disposed towards Dwarves, and at first treated Grimordel as a spy, sent by Thorin, son of Thráin. However, Grimordel won the respect of Lord Elrond, master of Imladris, by revealing to him much of the secret lore of the Dwarves that she had gleaned from her time amongst Durin's folk. He bestowed on her the title of Emissary of the Elves to the Dwarves, as a sign of the turning of the tide in relations between Dwarves and Elves. Grimordel and Thelandan were given a disused inn on one of the main streets of Imladris for their home, and all Dwarves that had call to stop by Imladris found a bed and comfort in their home. Grimordel was also appointed by Elrond as a teacher of children, of the part of their learning related to lore, and particularly to that of the Khazâd.

Over the next 70 or so years, Grimordel and Thelandan spent more and more time in Imladris, with occasional visits together to Bree or the Shire of the Hobbits. Thelandan still had the wanderlust of the Dúnedain running in his veins, and would often wander afar in search of adventure. But for Grimordel, her travelling days were over, and she settled to a routine of homely chores, teaching lore, and hospitality to stray Dwarves. Her friendship with the Dwarves still earned her some distrust amongst many of her neighbours, but High-Elves of learning, such as Elrond and his sons, were grateful for her knowledge. And so with the blessing of Elrond upon her, her neighbours came to begrudgingly accept her as part of their community in Imladris.

It was the year 2927 when Grimordel fell ill. Thelandan was with her in Imladris, as it happened, and he feared for her life. She was now 185 years old, and showing her age as only an Elf made mortal can. Thelandan himself was now in his 187th year, which is considered quite elderly for a Dúnedain, yet he still had the vigour to pull a bow or to mount his horse and travel for days across the expanses of Arda.

"Dear sweet Grimordel, my love, I have no medicine or potion, or herb from afar, that seems able to cure your aching stomach. Would you have me fetch Lord Elrond to your bedside, for he is wiser in these things than I am?"

"Do not leave me, Thelandan", she mumbled, "I do not know how much time I have left, and I would not want to leave for the Fair Havens without your face being the last thing I see."

"Then I shall go to the window to hail an errand-boy to take a message to Elrond, I shall only be away briefly. Do not leave without me, my dear. Be strong."

At that, Thelandan did as he had said and returned only a few moments later to her bedside. There he found her with her eyes closed. "I am too late, my dear Grimordel, you have departed from me. I am undone!"

"Do not fear, my husband, I am but resting. I pray that Elrond comes swiftly, for I cannot bear this pain much longer."

After only a short time there came a knock at the door. "He is here, my love. Stay with us, while I let him in."

Thelandan welcomed Elrond to their home and showed him swiftly to Grimordel's bedside.

"Leave us for a while, Thelandan", said Elrond as he took a seat beside her bed, "And get some rest yourself. She will not depart from you while I am here. I promise. Now go!"

Thelandan reluctantly left the room and went into the Great Hall, where there was a long wooden table and chairs that could easily seat twenty hungry Dwarves if needs be. For now he sat alone in one of the chairs at the table, and placing his elbows on the table and holding his head, he began to cry.

"It's not fair!" he thought, "She chose to become mortal so as to be with me, now she is departing ahead of me. That is not right. It should not be. Why, oh why did I ever let love grow between us? If only I had stayed with my hunting party and continued on with them to Forochel at the end of the Long Winter, then fair Grimordel would still be as strong and whole as her kin."

"Do not despair, Thelandan", said Elrond, who had quietly come up behind him.

"How much time does she have left?" Thelandan asked, without turning to face him.

"As much time as you, maybe more."

"So, you know what is wrong then? What is it that ails her? Can you make her well again?" asked Thelandan in a hail of questions as he stood up from his chair, feeling somewhat relieved.

"There is nothing that I can do for her", replied Elrond, a reply that caught Thelandan off guard, and instantly renewed his doubts and fears.

"But… so… what is wrong with her then?" asked a confused Thelandan. Emotion is not easy for a Dúnedain to express, and this over-hill-and-through-valley ride was wearing him out.

"She needs to see a specialist. I will send for Amarahel."

"Amarahel? But she… she..." Thelandan was finally lost for words.

"Yes, Thelandan, she is the one we call on to help with birthing. Your wife is about to have a baby! There is some powerful magic at work, and I will be asking some questions of your friend Mithrandir while you celebrate with your new family. Go, be with her now. She needs you."

Thelandan was awestruck, and he may not have even heard anything that Elrond said at all after the name of Amarahel was mentioned. He walked in a daze back to Grimordel's room, not even thinking to show Elrond the courtesy of the door.

"Isn't it wonderful news", said Grimordel, looking much more alive than when Thelandan had last seen her just a few short minutes before.

"It's amazing! It's just fabulous. I don't understand how this could have happened", replied Thelandan. The shock of it was still working through his system, and hadn't really hit his brain yet. "At our ages, to be parents, it's just unheard of."

"Yes, we'll be the talk of the town", said Grimordel, beaming.

"The town?" replied Thelandan, "News of this sort will reach fair Lórien faster than any horse can ride!"

Amarahel arrived soon after, and Thelandan was present at the birth of his second, and totally unexpected son. They named him Thoréandan, in memory of their first son.

It took Grimordel a long while to regain her strength from the ordeal of birthing at her age, and because of this Thelandan was more involved with the early years of Thoréandan's life than a Dúnedain father normally would be. They were visited by Arwen, daughter of Elrond, who nursed the baby, and who took up semi-permanent residence in their home for the first year of his life. Arwen normally lived in Lothlórien with her mother, so it was a pleasant opportunity for her to spend time with her father also.

When Thoréandan was two years old, Thelandan was called away to a wedding feast for the son of his friend Arador, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North. This Arador was the Heir of Isildur, who's son Arathorn was to wed Gilraen the Fair, daughter of Dírhael. The feast was to be held in Annúminas, City of the Kings of Arnor, beside Lake Nenuial. By this time Grimordel was back on her feet, as sprightly as if she were 50 years younger. She took up the responsibility for Thoréandan in all ways, and also kept her home, taught, and hosted many of Durin's folk. But always her primary concern was in the raising of her son.

From this point onward, until the child is in his 10th year, a Dúnedain child's mother and the other womenfolk have the main responsibility for raising and teaching, and this includes lettering, languages, lore, flora and fauna, and geography. Between the ages of 10 and 13, the father and other men folk take the primary role, and act as a "finishing school" for the lad, teaching him the art of war and other more practical skills, such as tracking, how to handle a boat of paddle or sail, how to find or make shelter, finding food, and starting a fire. Much of this latter training is done on shorts trips, or quests, sometimes with the child's own father present, and sometimes with him or one of the other men folk shadowing the youngling.

When Thoréandan was 3 years old, his father was once again called away, this time to battle with hill-trolls who were threatening the northern reaches of Imladris, in a place called the Coldfells. Thelandan fought beside his friend Arador the Dúnedain Chieftain. This battle ended in tragedy, for although the hill-trolls were defeated, Arador was taken captive and slain. It befell to Thelandan to ride for Annúminas with haste to tell of the loss of his friend. There he stayed with Arathorn, son of Arador, until he was celebrated properly as Chieftain. Thus Thelandan unknowingly played a part in the history of Arda, being witness to the inauguration of last Chieftain of the divided Kingdom of Arnor.

The next year, Thoréandan's fourth, his father went back to Annúminas for the celebration of the birth of Arador's grandson, Aragorn. Thoréandan did not see much of his father in those days, and was already starting to learn the meaning of being a Dúnedain, a Ranger.

Two years later, when Thoréandan was six years old, his father received an urgent call to make haste for Annúminas once again. This time it was the Lady Gilraen who summoned him, and Thelandan was therefore all the more concerned to make good time, as he felt a foreboding chill at this call. When he arrived in Annúminas, he met there Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, and his fears were justified.

"The Chieftain is dead", said Elladan.

"How did this happen?" asked Thelandan.

"We were riding with him against a band of Orcs near Fornost. He was slain by an orc-arrow that pierced his eye."

"What can I do?"

"Go, take Lady Gilraen and her son into your care, and bear them to my father's house in Imladris, you must do this quickly and quietly, for the Enemy is seeking to discover the Heir of Isildur, if any remains upon the earth. This boy is the last. We shall stay behind and see that Arathorn is properly buried."

Elrohir passed him a tightly wrapped bundle. "And take these, the heirlooms. Father will know what to do with them. Do not speak of this to anyone, even your wife."

And so Thelandan accompanied Lady Gilraen and her young son Aragorn (who was by then three years old), by secret ways back from Annúminas to Imladris. The trip took many days longer than it normally would have, and they only travelled by cover of darkness. They stole into the city and went straight to Elrond's house, where he was waiting on the doorstep for them.

"Quickly, bring them inside, Thelandan", urged Elrond.

When they were inside, Elrond charged Thelandan again to speak of this matter to nobody, for the life of last Heir of Isildur depended on it.

"Father, when can I come with you on a quest?" asked Thoréandan one day.

"You are not yet ready for such a venture, young lad. You have much to learn yet from your mother before you are ready to travel far like a Ranger. It is best that you stay in the safety of Imladris for now. Your mother tells me you are doing well in your studies."

"But Estel gets to travel, and he's only three years old. I am twice his age!"

"Who is Estel? I have not heard of him before", said Thelandan, taking a keener interest in what his son was saying.

"That's Lord Elrond's new son. They're going to Bree next week, and they might have to fight orchids on the way."

"Ah well, orchids, is it? Yes, well, they can be dangerous, no doubt about it", replied Thelandan, trying to stifle the laugh as he pictured a bunch of giant flowers attacking Lord Elrond and his party, "But they are not Dúnedain. Lord Elrond is an Elf, like your mother."

"But Estel looks more like a Dúnedain than an Elf", complained Thoréandan, "He looks more like a Dúnedain than I do, for I have the pointy ears of my mother."

"Yes, and that is why you need to use them to listen more carefully to your mother's lessons. Heritage comes not only from the bloodline, but also from the lore you are raised with. Take your mother for instance. Does she look like a Dwarf?"

"No way! She's an Elf, just like Elrond and Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir, and Lúmarahel, and Rúmavien" replied Thoréandan.

"But you know that we have a lot of Dwarves come to stay with us. Do you know why they always stay at our place?"

"Because mother is the memisary", said young Thoréandan with pride.

"And why did she become the mem… the Emissary?" asked Thelandan.

"Because she lived with them for a long time, and knows all about them, and all my friends have to come to our house to learn about Dwarves from her, even Pelain does."

"That's right, so although mother is an Elf, and looks like an Elf, she knows the Dwarven lore and is accepted by the Dwarves as one of their own."

"Pelain is a Dwarf, and he's only four years old, and not long ago his father Dwalin took him all the way to Moria, and that's a long way away."

"Dwarf children learn things at different times to Dúnedain or Elven children", explained Thelandan patiently, "and places from their history are very important to them. Khazad-dûm is very special to the memory of the Dwarves."

"Where is Khazad-dûm?" asked Thoréandan. He was clearly losing the plot.

"You need to ask your mother. Remember, she's the one who teaches about the Dwarves, not me."

"Thelandan, my good friend, we have need of your services again", said Elladan, "The eye of the Enemy is toward Imladris, and we need a decoy to draw off the scent. Would you be willing to travel by night to Minas Tirith, carrying nothing more of interest than a child's doll wrapped in a blanket, so that the Enemy may see the Heir of Isildur being spirited away? It is a deadly dangerous quest, one that of course must be kept veiled in utmost secrecy."

"I will go", said Thelandan, "But I must return by yestarë for in the New Year my son will be in his tenth year and my services are required at home."

As he returned home from the house of Elrond, Thoréandan and Joktan were playing outside with Karn. "Father, your purposeful stride gives you away. Where are you bound for?" asked Thoréandan.

"It seems I can no longer keep secrets from you, my son, for your eyes are keen. Yes, I am setting off again. I have a quest of my own for Lord Elrond. Whence I go I cannot say."

"But you will be back before yestarë won't you?"

"Of course I will. I wouldn't miss our first lesson for anything."

"Joktan and I have come up with a good idea for that first lesson. He's bound for Tyrn Gorthad that very day, for by then he will be 13. We could go with him", ventured Thoréandan.

"We'll discuss it when I get back", promised Thelandan, "But I don't think Joktan would be too pleased to have me come along with him, for the quest of Tyrn Gorthad is the quest of manhood. He does not need an adult companion with him. And I'm not so sure about you going without some proper training first."

"Joktan's already been teaching me to fight, so I'll be able to look after myself."

"Oh, has he just? Joktan, get over here!" barked Thelandan.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean any harm. I've just been showing him a few moves that my father has been teaching me", stammered the poor frightened boy.

"You boys should know better. Thoréandan is not to learn how to fight until he knows whom to fight. That is the way of the Dúnedain. He must finish his learning properly with his mother first. Lore is important, for it not only teaches you the history of the races of Arda, but it teaches why one race is at war with another, and over what, and what their specific strengths and weaknesses are. Geography is needed to know where he stands and what his surroundings are. He must learn of flora to know what cover is available. From these places of knowledge, only then can you decide which side of a battle, if any, you should join. You have completed that part of your training, Joktan. Let Thoréandan complete his too."

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again", said Joktan, with his head downcast.

"Now, draw your weapon and show me one of those moves that your father has been learning you", Thelandan ordered. Within seconds of Joktan's first thrust he was weaponless, and with his face in the dirt. "You see, boy, knowing how to throw a blade through the air doesn't make you a warrior. There are many other factors, like being fast on your feet. You came at me with a sharp blade, and me totally unarmed and elderly. I merely stepped out of your way, then continued your own momentum beyond where it was aimed, extending your stretch too far for you to keep control of your weapon. You have much to learn yet boy. Don't presume to teach my son when your own learning is incomplete. Now off you go."

Joktan picked himself up off the ground with a look of wonder on his face, "Yes sir, thank you sir, I'll go home and practice that now!"

As the boy skittered off towards his home, Thoréandan turned to his father, "I wish you hadn't done that, father. I have a test tomorrow in Certar, and Joktan's mother is my lettering teacher. She may go hard on me for it."

"Good!" replied Thelandan gruffly, "That way you will learn two lessons from your foolishness. Is your Certar test in Sindarin?"

"Nay, I am doing my lettering tomorrow in Quenya. I have already passed the Sindarin test, both in Certar runes and in Tengwar script."

"Good for you boy", said Thelandan approvingly. He was very proud of how well Thoréandan was doing in his studies, and word was filtering back to him from his fellow Dúnedain that their wives, some of whom were responsible for teaching, were highly impressed with Thoréandan's aptitude for lore, languages, and geography. Grimordel had been pushing him hard, and was secretly giving him extra teaching in all areas, where normally she would only be responsible for one or maybe two topics, and would share the workload with the other womenfolk. Her efforts were paying off.

"I leave at sunrise for the South. Before I go, I want to see a Valaquenta of the Maiar on my desk in your own hand, written in the Quenya Certar runes. That shall be your punishment, and suitable it is, for taking learning from your friend Joktan when you had no business to."

"But father, I had promised Lúmarahel that I would take her down to the river this evening. There will be singing and poetry, and Elrohir is reciting the poem of Tinúviel", moaned Thoréandan. He was quite fond of Lúmarahel, and she of him. The poem of Tinúviel is the poem of young lovers.

"Your shadow is only getting longer standing there boy. I suggest you get started writing now so that you will still have time for your maiden."

"Very well, sir", replied Thoréandan, and resignedly went inside. Karn, feeling dejected, returned to his favourite spot on the porch. Thelandan did not approve of his son's choice of maiden, for he knew from his own experiences that a matching of Dúnedain and Elf was fraught with trouble. Lúmarahel was a dainty Elven girl with a long, very long life ahead of her. She reminded him of Grimordel when they had met, when she was not that much older than Lúmarahel. That fateful meeting cut fair Grimordel's lifespan short, for she had chosen mortality and betrothal to Thelandan. It is a heavy burned for Thelandan to bear, and he would that he did not have to see his son carrying that same burden.


	3. Finishing School

CHAPTER THREE: Finishing School

"Well, that looks like just about everything", said Thelandan in his slow Dúnedain drawl. They were standing together outside the home. There were extra hands to help load the wain this time, as a couple of Dwarves had come to visit Dwalin and Pelain, and were staying, as is customary, at Thelandan and Grimordel's homestead. Grimordel was pensive and showed it, as she prepared to release her baby to the wide, wild world. She had already checked every item in the wain, and was now proceeding to check them all again, to make sure that they had everything they needed for the journey.

"Stop fluffing, dear. You know I normally take much less that this when I travel much further than we will be going on this trip. He's going to have to learn to do without, that's the whole point of the exercise. You can't learn to be a Ranger if you're cosseted up with all the comforts of home all around you constantly. I've a good mind to dump some of this stuff in Bree on the way!"

"And I've a good mind to scout along with you", retorted Grimordel.

"Mother, I'll be fine", interjected Thoréandan quickly, not wanting to let the moment he's been waiting for all his life, the beginning of his 'real' training, to turn into a family picnic.

"You just mind you stay close to the wain, young man, and always keep it between yourself and danger."

"Yes ma'am, I will", replied Thoréandan as he walked up beside his mother and gave her a tight squeeze around the waist. "I'll watch and learn, that's what I'm there to do on this trip. No heroics, I promise!" Thelandan had already secretly schooled him in the words to say at this parting, and Thoréandan could see from the effect of what he was saying that his father had more of an understanding of his mother's mind than he had realized.

"I wish I was going with you", said Rúmavien, who was part of the small crowd that had gathered to see them off. Rú was now § years old and was starting to sprout upwards like a young pine.

"Sorry Rú, this time it's just me and my father and Karn, three good horses, a sturdy wain and provisions to last 6 months. You wouldn't believe we're only going to be gone for a month in total would you?" said Thoréandan, with a sly wink and smile at his mother.

"Well, let's get moving then, as that month is a-wasting while we stand here talking about it", said Thelandan gruffly, "We'll have much more to talk about when we return." He gave a shrill whistle, and Karn shot out from wherever he had been hiding and bounded up to them, ready as ever to go hunting for coneys. Thelandan climbed up onto the bench at the front of the wain, Thoréandan mounted his chestnut pony, Durg, and they set off. Thelandan's white mare Gréda was tethered to be rear of the wain.

"You still haven't told me where we are going yet", remarked Thoréandan as they walked down the hill toward the river.

"And I'm not going to either", replied Thelandan, "that will be your first lesson. With all that geography and map reading the womenfolk have been stuffing you with, you should be able to tell me where we are going."

They had passed the Ford of the Bruinen, across that great river known in the Common Speech as Loudwater, which runs down from the Misty Mountains, passing Swanfleet, and emptying eventually into the Gulf of Belegaer, forming a natural border between the lands of Minhiriath and Enedwaith. Thelandan quizzed his son on his knowledge of places and peoples, languages, birds, trees, flowers, animals and insects all along the way. They travelled far into the hills of Rhuadaur and made camp there, keeping a careful eye and ear out for trolls. The next day they came to a mighty rushing river.

"Your learning is very thorough, my son, but can you name this river that we are to cross?" asked Thelandan.

"This is the Hoarwell River, that meets the Loudwater at The Angle", replied Thoréandan confidently.

"You are correct, and come we now to The Last Bridge, by which we shall cross your Hoarwell. From here there is an old disused road leading northward. Be warned that you must never follow this road. In my youth it was the main path through the passes of the Weather Hills. Do you know why it is no longer used?"

"No, Father, this way was never mentioned to me", replied Thoréandan, astonished that at last he had come across a flaw in his learning of geography.

"And well the womenfolk should stay away from the subject too", replied the old Dúnedain. That road passes the Northern side of Weathertop Hill. This was the site of a mighty battle from of old, and a place of history treasured by the descendants of Elendil and Isildur. But the northern face of Weathertop has a cave, in which there now lives a fierce dragon named Huog. Only a fool would pass the northern face of Weathertop in these days."

"Is that the dragon that killed my brother?" asked the lad, knowing this was a topic to be wary of, even when his mother was not around.

"No son, for that dragon was Smaug, the mightiest of dragons. This is a smaller wyrm, one of Smaug's distant relatives. Even still, Huog is not to be trifled with. Dragons started to spread southwards from the frozen wastes of Forodwaith beyond the Ered Mithris Mountains in the year 2570. It is rumoured that this Huog is in fact the one and the same dragon the slew the Dwarven King Dain, in the year 2589."

"I thought King Dain was the current King under the Iron Hills."

"No son, for that is Dain II, known as Ironfoot. This King Dain was known as Dain the First."

They carried on like this all through the Lone-Lands to the south of Weathertop Hill, where talk began of the great tower of Amon Sûl and the battles between the Dúnedain peoples of Rhudaur and Cardolan, and of the Palantiri, the Seeing Stones that could be used to communicate across vast distances. One of these Stones was once kept at the tower of Amon Sûl upon Weathertop, and both Rhudaur and Cardolan desired it.

That evening they made camp in the shadow of Weathertop, and Thoréandan's dreams were filled with battles and dragons and Palantiri. Karn awoke them early that morning while chasing a coney through their campsite. On this, their third day out from Imladris, they arrived at a fortified and well fenced township.

"Father! We are come unto Bree, at the edge of The Shire of the Hobbits, the realm of the Periannath", said Thoréandan excitedly, "I shall get to meet some of the little people!"

"Indeed you shall, my son, but we shall not tarry here long, for soon our travels take us Northward."

"I have worked out where we are going, Father", announced the lad, "You are taking us to Fornost, where once our ancestors lived. The place now called Deadman's Dike. It lies to the North of Bree."

"You are close, my son, but a little off. I'll give you a clue. We go to a place that was once called Evendim."

"Lake Evendim, that is now called Lake Nenuial, and upon its shores stood the once mighty City of the Kings, Annúminas is its name. Is that where we are going Father?" Thoréandan asked with some relief, for he had heard tales of Deadman's Dike from his friend Joktan that made it the last place on his list of favourite places to travel to.

"You have guessed correctly, young man. We shall turn North at the Bridge of Stonebows, that was once called Iant Iaur, or the Old Bridge, and follow the northern reaches of the Baranduin River, that the Hobbits call the Brandywine. What is it's older name son? Quickly now."

"Esgalduin", replied Thoréandan, his thorough knowledge of history and geography shining now.

"Very good! We follow the Northern Esgalduin all the way to Lake Nenuial, in the shadow of the Hills of Evendim, and there make camp among the ruins of Annúminas. From Hobbiton it should take us another two days to get there. There I shall begin your training proper."

As Thelandan had foretold, they did not spend long in Bree, but long enough for Thoréandan to meet a few Hobbits. They spent the night in a room at The Prancing Pony, where Gandalf had taken Thelandan all those years ago. Thelandan also showed his son the home that he lived in at Bree while Grimordel lived amongst the Dwarves in Ered Luin, to the East of the Blue Mountains.

The next morning, while loading up the wain, Thoréandan noticed that the load was lighter than it had been. He remembered his father's words to his mother before they left Imladris, and did not dare ask where the remaining supplies had been taken, or to whom they were given.

"We travel one more day in the safety of civilised peoples, son, and after that we must be on our guard at all times. Heed your mother's advice to stay close to the wain."

"I shall, Father", replied Thoréandan.


End file.
